When you were marrying Celestin, the scrubby schoolboy was drawing his first picture of a walking corpse.
He was a man, mature enough to be fair mate for her. He was more than her lover, though. He was the man she loved as she had never thought to love. She would marry him quickly, joyfully if she could give him at least hope of a child.
Could she be his mistress? Let him marry a suitable young woman who would bear him children?
No. Never. If he married someone else she could never corrode his marriage like that, and she didn’t think he would consider it.
So... As he’d said, they could be happy without children of their own. The title would die, but if he didn’t mind...
Was she being weak or strong?
Would he—and this was the crucial question—would he come to regret it?
She turned and looked at her mate, her destiny. He was sleeping, lashes long on his cheeks, looking at ease. Perhaps he had not slept much these past nights.
She had the sudden realization that her life had flowed to make this moment possible.
When she had entered society at sixteen—shy, proud, and rather awkward—Van had truly been a scrubby schoolboy. They would never have found each other. The years since had been necessary to bridge the gap of years and experiences.
Without the army, Van might not have become her match. With his wild nature, he might have become one of the callow, irresponsible young men of theton.
If she’d not married Celestin, she would now be settled with some other man, not free to love. Without the pleasures and pains of that marriage, she would never have been able to deal with Van’s complexities.
Fate had shaped them and finally tossed them together for this brief trial. This was her golden moment. Her only chance. She brushed silky hair from his forehead, tussling with courage and honor in her mind...
His lashes rose and he smiled, confused for a moment, then warm. “Marry me, Maria.”
She was struck dumb again, but surrendered in a whisper. “If you’re sure...”
His eyes shut, then opened, and she saw the gloss of tears. “I’m sure. Maria!” He gathered her in for a hug that made her squeak. They broke apart, laughing.
“I feel wicked,” she protested. “Wrong.”
He grinned. “Of course you do. You are lying ravished in an unblessed bed. But marriage will fix that.”
“I’m not sure our sort of ravishment is right even with a blessing.”
“Oh it is, it is,” he murmured, nuzzling at her breasts.
She suddenly held him there, held him close, stabbed by the thought that no child would ever suckle at her breast. And that she was binding him to her barren fate. She was a greedy, wicked woman.
“Promise me you won’t regret it, Van.”
It was a whisper because he could not promise that, but he said, “I promise.”
They lay for a moment, but then he stirred, pulled apart, and sat shamelessly naked facing her. “I’ve shown you the things. I still have the words.”
She sat up, too, suddenly wary. “Words? What more is left to say?”
He looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. “I don’t want to raise false hopes. It’s still in the hands of fate. But you may not be barren.”
The pain of tears swept through her. “Van, don’t! We have to accept the truth.”
“Then accept it. Listen.” It was an officer’s command and she stilled.
“I’ve spent time with Oncle Charles and Tante Louise, and things they said didn’t entirely match Natalie being your husband’s daughter. For a start, the idea only stirred about six years ago.”
“That was when Natalie’s parents died and she came here. The truth came out because her mother was beyond scandal. And why else would she come to live with Maurice? Van—”
